


Black sheep of Gondolin

by hauntedpoem



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: M/M, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-18
Updated: 2017-04-18
Packaged: 2018-10-20 13:12:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 728
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10663323
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hauntedpoem/pseuds/hauntedpoem
Summary: Glorfindel watches Maeglin. So does Turgon.





	Black sheep of Gondolin

Glorfindel watches him with veiled eyes. Ever since Maeglin, son of Aredhel came to stay here, in Gondolin, he tried to stay away from him. 

Maeglin unsettles Glorfindel. It's not the string of tragedies that seem to perpetually follow him around or the black beryl splinter of his eyes, it's not even his mysterious allure or the grimness of his stance. 

To Glorfindel, those are all traits he is willing to ignore.

He understands Maeglin's infatuation with Idril. After what he's been through, her attention and her friendliness have assuaged his broken, orphaned spirit. One thing bothers him. Only one.

It's Turgon, their king.

It's how his hand lingers for longer than usual on Maeglin's shoulder, how it trails down until it rests at the small of his back. It's how Turgon watches Maeglin, avidly. Glorfindel knows that look and there is nothing sane about it.

Glorfindel watches Maeglin now with open eyes and curiosity. He knows that Maeglin is aware of it but Maeglin, just like Idril used to do, pretends that nothing happened.

*

Days, weeks pass and Maeglin's life unravels. He is his father's son, Eol the Dark Elf. He is a Noldo in flesh but everything about his soul is an indicative of being of Avarin descent. Magical blood runs through his veins. Maeglin thinks that it's the source of his desires, sinister and haunting but oftentimes, confounding.

Idril, stupid, beautiful woman, resumes to ignoring him and it hurts. Over and over, he relives his father's death and the curse he shouted at him. He closes his eyes and remembers his mother at the dinner table on that night. She drank wine and ate lamb, she laughed and she quipped, she told surreal stories of dark and magical lands.Then, she fell ill because the javelin has been poisoned.

Maeglin turned a cold shoulder towards all this. It wasn't his past he wanted to be known for. It wasn't the long string of suffering. Idril was blind to all that he could be. 

Idril was his cousin but Turgon was his uncle. To Maeglin it didn't make a difference. Except that Turgon's hands have been greedy to take what others feared. At night when he possessed and mastered his body, Maeglin could feel the evil magic that his father has hidden deep inside him, seeping away. He felt lighter, he felt free.

 

*

His nephew is a treacherous, wild thing. Whoever planted in that silly mind of his that he could have Idril and somehow, make her love him, was either blind or ignorant. Slippery like an eel and cunning like a fox, Maeglin walked the halls of his Hidden City. His sister's son was a black stain on the whiteness of Gondolin's marble streets. And that darkness needed to be contained. Turgon watched him ascending the stairs to the royal palace. He has been waiting for him, all day.

Turgon cannot wait to have his hands mar alabaster skin, pull at the black hair, make those almond-shaped eyes weep. No, it's not in pain that he cries, Turgon reassures himself as he indulges in wine and traces the opal ring on his index finger. It's pleasure masked as pain. Maeglin is a snake, always deceiving others and with tonight's punishment, he'll rectify that in him.

Three thousand steps of white marble. Many nobles have complained about the number. It's a pain to put horses through, Salgant wailed once after his king reprimanded him for being late to the council. But the fools don't see the reason why he had them built. He likes watching them all struggle, pant and heave. Most of them do, except Maeglin who glides like a shadow, wearing a heavy velvet cape in black even on a sunny day.

He watches his nephew being stopped by Glorfindel, one of his lords. For the next minutes, Turgon is amused at Maeglin's attempts to escape the lord's presence. Glorfindel has no idea that every minute Maeglin's keeping him waiting, he pays with his flesh.

Maeglin pushes past the man but Glorfindel is tall and strong, not wiry and lithe like an Avari.

Turgon pours himself more wine and waits and waits and waits until it's clear that Maeglin won't make it. Perhaps he should use the whip on him the next time they meet in the solitude of these chambers, he tells himself.

 

 


End file.
